


The Fear of Falling Apart

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Underage Drinking, and thrust into the cold depths of outer space, as happy as it gets being torn away from your family, but like it's still pretty gay so there's that, crying Lance bc I'm terrible, many apologies in advance, where you're forced to save the universe as a teen i guess, who cares though cause they are in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“D-do you, you know,” Lance croaks, voice hoarse. He turns the cup in his hands slowly, fingers shaking and wet as they trace the grooves on it. “Ever...forget..?”</p><p>Keith stumbles upon a sight he was never meant to see, but he tries to make it better as best as he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fear of Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frankypoisson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frankypoisson/gifts).



Keith isn’t sure what time it is, but it’s definitely late. 

Late for them, that is - everyone resigned to their bunks hours ago, and the only signs of life comes from the almost sentient feel of the ship. Lights gently pulse and tiny gadgets whir and blip as they drift along slowly in their pre-coordinated trip. The ship creaks and groans occasionally as it glides through the pitch blackness of space, disorientating in the fact you can never quite tell what time it is. He briefly wonders what time it would even be on Earth. He’s not sure he wants to jump through the hoops of figuring out that befuddling time zone difference, or if it’s even possible to do so as they constantly move through so many different, unknown galaxies.

The real pressing issue at the moment, however, is that he can’t sleep. It’s not unusual, he’s had his fair share of tossing and turning in the late nights during his time spent in the lonely desert on Earth, and really it’s no big deal at all in comparison to the awful nights lying awake during his childhood at the orphanage, listening to the other kids wretchedly cry out in their sleep for parents who weren’t there. 

Adjusting to life traveling in space might take some getting used to, but it’s nothing he thinks he won’t be able to handle in the long-run as his body warms up to it. What is unusual, is that when he pads quietly into the main hall leading towards the dining area to get some water and maybe eat a little something to rest his uneasy stomach, he hears a muffled indiscernible noise, and then the sound of someone - or something - sniffling.

He’s instantly on edge, shifting to the balls of his feet and holding his hands up in fists in case he needs to, for some reason, knock some enemy to the ground. He contemplates at first going back to suit up and grab his bayard, when the sound of a choked back sob becomes clearer, the unmistakeable folded shadow of a person casting long against a dim light filtering from the kitchen as it moves into his line of sight. It’s a familiar noise he doesn’t particularly like hearing dredged up again from memories so old - and honestly best left to die forgotten - being backdropped into his new home like this, a place where he feels like he finally belongs.

Keith pauses outside the doorway, feeling a little foolish about jumping the gun, and that he’s stumbled upon something he probably shouldn’t have heard - and definitely shouldn’t be seeing. He’s about to turn around, run off and forget he ever noticed anything and let whoever it is have their moment of peace, when a small, wavering voice calls out to him, so sad and pitiful Keith swears his heart drops into his stomach.

“Hey...p-please...don’t go...” 

Keith’s knees buckle a little as he walks stiffly and tentatively forward into the hall at the request, not having the heart to leave even after the voice clearly reveals its identity to him, cheeks warming at the awkwardness of it all.

“Oh,” Lance says around a small cry, freezing up and looking equally as mortified as Keith strides towards him, “O-oh, it’s, uh, you…”

The poor boy is postured on the ground, curled in a ball against a wall with his arms around his knees, which are pulled tight to his chest. Tears are streaming down his face from immensely puffy eyes, nose scrunched and lip quivering as he struggles to hold back his cries at the unfortunate reveal.

Keith wonders if maybe he was hoping for the fatherly and understanding gaze of Shiro, or maybe the kind and caring presence of his best friend, Hunk, whom might gather him in a supportive hug. Maybe Pidge even, with her tough exterior, but wise words and soul determined to help in any way she could. Or maybe he’d have preferred Coran, who wouldn’t judge, who would probably know exactly what he’s going through and attempt to make him laugh. Hell, he thinks, he’s sure Lance would have taken to embarrassing himself in front of Allura before he would in front of him.

Keith doesn’t blame him, he’s not sure what he could honestly ever offer that would be better than the others in a situation like this, which he’d rather just pretend isn’t happening. What a bad gamble, that 1/6th chance ending up being the absolute worst.

In any case, it’s clear as Lance wipes vigorously at his eyes that Keith was not the one he was expecting. He hurries to cover his mistake, to try and make it seem like sitting on the floor of the kitchen sobbing in the middle of the night is no big deal.

“I, um, was c-cutting these things like onions, you know, they make me...it’s really nothing, I couldn’t sleep, had to make s-something to eat...sorry if I’m in your way, couldn’t stand either, ‘cause, y’know, my eyes hurt? Uh...” his words tumble slightly slurred from his constricted sounding throat, rushing out rationalizations as if Keith could be convinced by such things. 

Of course, there’s nothing that looks even remotely like onions out on a cutting board. No, nothing at all but an open jar with a pungent liquid - of which Keith recognizes as nunvill - that he puts two and two together with an overturned cup on the floor next to Lance. Keith averts his eyes respectfully, makes his way quickly towards the cabinets and sink. He can’t just run away and make Lance feel weirder, but he doesn’t think he can stand around dumbly and watch him fall apart like this, either.

“It’s fine, I’m just thirsty. I’ll be gone in a second, don’t worry about it.”

Lance doesn’t respond, only sniffs a few times, and Keith feels that strange twist in his heart again, like so many knives stabbing through his arteries. He fumbles for the glasses when he gets to the cupboard - it’s not a feeling that comes easy for him to remember. He doesn’t want to press the issue, but he can’t help but make an attempt at offering some comfort, no matter how much his brain is screaming at him to just shut up and get out of there.

“Ah, um, do you…need, uh...” Keith says carefully as he pours two glasses of water, then pauses in front of the jar when he walks past it again. He puts down the cups and goes back to fish for a third, which he almost drops like an idiot when he gets his hands on it. “Would you like anything before I go..?”

Lance makes a tiny, strained sort of whimpering noise at that, like he’s holding back with every bit of his being from letting out the cries on the tip of his tongue.

“I-I-I,” Lance stammers, booze loose lips working revealing words off his tongue regardless, “I forgot...I-I forgot...I f-forgot, and I’m s-so sorry...”

And with that, the sobs he’s been holding back pour out of him, heart wrenching wails rolling one after another between heavy gasps. He throws his head in his hands. Keith’s blood runs cold, his grip on the cup slick with sweat while he pours some of the disgusting liquid into it, marveling that it doesn’t instantly destroy the cup.

“It’s okay, Lance,” he says, even though it’s clearly not, “I mean, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’m sure it’s okay…”

Stupid, what a stupid thing to say. He’s never been good at the whole consoling thing. He really should just go before he makes this worst. He’s going to do it, going to drop off these cups and get the fuck out of there, when a hand reaches out and grabs him loosely around the ankle. Keith looks down, and he immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“I-I had a dream,” Lance breathes hard, punctuated by soft sobs and hiccuping inhales, looking up at him with pleading, hurt eyes, “W-was h-home...with my fam’ly…so s-sorry, it’s s-stupid...”

Keith wants to tell him to be quiet and not to worry about it, to take a deep breath and maybe drink some water, but he has a feeling this is important for Lance to get off his chest, guilt clear in the way he averts his eyes and a few large tears flow out. He’s biting his lip and wringing his free hand in his shirt.

“That’s not stupid, don’t be sorry,” Keith says as an attempt to help, but Lance pulls away like his skin somehow burned him, eyes narrowing. 

“It _is_ stupid, just listen, m-mullet! ‘S not all!”

“Okay, okay,” Keith puts up his hands, careful not to spill the glasses, “So it is stupid, I’m listening.”

“Good,” Lance tuts as he slams himself back against the wall tiredly, “‘Cause I, I’m not…t-this isn’t...it _is_ dumb...I am...the worst...”

Keith watches him struggle to finish his thoughts, wonders if maybe he forgot what he was even going to say. Sweat beads on his brow as he waits.

“I w-was home. I was home, and it was good, Keith. My brothers and sisters an’ m-my mom and my dad, abuelito and abuelita...”

Lance looks off into the distance at the memory, a small smile pushing through, until he’s overcome by wracking sobs again. Keith doesn’t dare say a word as the minutes drag by, but every second is pushing more daggers between his ribcage. Finally, Lance raises his head, rubbing his eyes some more before continuing.

“All there. Was great.” His face falls into a deep, vexed frown. “Mom was cooking, Dad was laughing, kids were playing on the beach...it seemed _so_ real…the s-sights, the sounds, the smells...it was nice...” He huffs, disgruntled, and Keith shifts from foot to foot, feeling more and more awkward by the second. He shouldn’t be the one here, listening to Lance be so honest. This is all wrong, he isn’t the one to talk to about family by a longshot - he doesn’t know how to do this.

Lance grabs him by the hem of his nightshirt then, clinging to it like a little, snot-nosed kid.

“But when I woke up, I-I forgot,” he whispers, voice quaking like someone confessing to the most grievous of crimes, “I forgot _everything_. How my mom smelled, the feel of the ocean breeze, even had trouble remembering dad’s l-laugh…” 

Keith feels his face drop to levels, he imagines, mirrors Lance’s own crestfallen one staring back up at him helplessly.

“Oh, Lance…”

What is he supposed to say to this. What is he supposed to say? Is he supposed to say anything at all? Or should he just hug him or something?

“I forgot, I’m an idiot, I shouldn’t forget those things!” Lance spits, shame showing clear in the way he removes his hands from fiddling with Keith’s shirt and falls back, defeated, to the wall again. He doesn’t look at him with his next words, eyes caught on a focal point too far away for either of them to plainly see. “And then I-I thought, y’know? If _I_ can forget something like that so easily, then…” He takes a deep, shaking breath and pauses for so long Keith feels his own breath catching in anticipation with him.

“...they could forget about me, too,” he spills the poison eating as his soul, and Keith’s fragile wall around his heart shatters into a million pieces. This is a heartache he knows all too well.

“Ah…” Keith breaks the tension with a deeply understanding air, because he thinks that maybe he can help after all. “I get it. You feel guilty about forgetting, and you feel like they’ll move on and stop remembering you too then, right?”

Lance nods sadly, wrapping his arms back around his knees and squeezing them tight. He looks incredibly small. Keith smiles gently as he slumps against the wall and slides down it to join Lance on the floor. He hands him a cup, that one that holds the nunvill. He places the other with water by his feet.

“They won’t forget you, Lance, they love you. I bet they’re out there thinking about you right now, whatever the hell time or day it might be,” he says softly, clapping a comforting hand on Lance's shoulder and trying his best attempt at a cheerful, supportive grin, “And just because you forgot something small, or even something that seems big, doesn’t mean that you love them any less. Sometimes our memories can slip, but you never forget the people you truly love even if parts of them start to fade away because of inevitable things like time and space.”

Lance lifts his head at that, tear-stained face and bloodshot eyes looking through him, calculating, as if he still doesn’t quite believe him. He rubs his nose with his sleeve, nursing the nunvill in his hands as he stares at his rippling reflection in it. He grimaces into it, brings the cup to his lips, and chokes immediately as he tips it towards his throat.

Spluttering as most of the substance spills over the floor while he coughs through the fire it must be burning down his esophagus, Keith awkwardly gives Lance a few pats on the back. When Lance collects himself, cheeks red tinged and eyes unfocused, he gives him the most serious look Keith thinks he’s ever received from him.

“D-do you, you know,” Lance croaks, voice hoarse. He turns the cup in his hands slowly, fingers shaking and wet as they trace the grooves on it. “Ever...forget..?”

He leaves the question hanging, but Keith gets what he means. He glances at the floor, thinking for a moment about how to answer. He’d only been trying to make Lance feel better, he never really had anyone back on Earth he’d loved enough to feel the twinge of homesickness or the pain of missing those he never quite had in the first place - at least, not in the same way that the rest of them are probably feeling. He’s not sure Lance knows this, though, and it’s surely an innocent enough question. He revisits what prompted him to feel like he could relate.

“Yeah,” he hears himself saying automatically, thinking back to the only memory he can recall, a small flicker like an old reel of bad quality home movies - his tiny hands extended in front of him while he stands no higher than knee level, laughing as he raises chubby arms up to the shadowy, feminine figure whose warm, loving touch he yearns to feel holding him. “Yeah, sure I do, buddy. All the time.”

“R-really?” 

Lance lolls his head towards him, eyes swollen and red and heart-breaking. Keith smiles reassuringly, raising a hand up to his cheek to brush it tenderly with the pad of his finger. It’s something he’s seen a lot of close friends and families do on TV back home, so he’s sure it’s a comforting gesture. Lance flushes about five shades redder, which he’s not so sure is a good thing. He looks a bit ill. For a moment Keith gives him some space, thinking he might end up getting sick, but Lance seems fine enough. His breathing is starting to level out. He's not crying anymore at least, and the relief that brings is more than Keith could ever ask for.

“Of course. We all have people we miss, Lance, and we all have people that miss us. It’s okay to feel that, and it’s okay to feel like our memories of them might fade away sometimes. It’s alright, because you know that somewhere, you are l-loved, and, uh...that’s all that really matters, I guess.” 

It’s Keith’s turn to flush and falter as he breaks eye contact with Lance, who’s staring at him with a curious expression on his face. He’s really not built for these sorts of situations at all, and part of him is honestly hoping Lance forgets all of this come morning. His whole body burns as he says the last words against his better judgment.

“You still have people, here, too, you know. That, ah...care. A lot.”

Lance lets out a long breath, squared shoulders deflating, body relaxing from the weight of the guilt that slips with the last of his confession. “That…” He murmurs so lowly Keith has to move in closer to hear him, “...actually makes me feel a lot better, thanks Keith.”

Keith feels his heart slowly begin to piece itself back together, one rapidly fluttering beat at a time. “You’re, um...you’re welcome...”

He carefully pries the half-empty cup of nunvill from Lance’s hands and sets it to the side. Lance doesn’t fight him about it when he proffers the cup of water to his lips instead. He takes it from him, chugging back the whole thing in one large gulp.

“Ah, yeah,” he sighs when he’s done, licking his lips with a satisfied, dreamy expression, “That’s definitely much, much better.”

Keith laughs lightly, stands, and extends a hand out to him. “C’mon, I’ll help you get back to bed. You should try and get some sleep before training tomorrow. You wouldn’t want everyone to know you’ve got a hangover, right?”

“Pssh, don’t need your help,” Lance grumbles, though he grasps his hand tightly anyway, and Keith hauls him up. Lance makes a move to start the trek on his own, but he stumbles, probably destined to faceplant if it weren’t for Keith. Keith catches him easily, supporting his weight as he leads him down the hall despite Lance’s faint protests.

His own cup of water remains behind, forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so I may have been listening to [This is Gospel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGE381tbQa8) while writing this, so sue me. Though, specifically, it was [ this beautiful version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P528ifPwXdg) which I think everyone should listen to if they get the chance, especially with headphones. Hope you all liked it, sorry for the depressing subject...


End file.
